Pain
by Phate3092
Summary: So tell me what keeps Spencer Reid up at night? OneShot


He wished that this job made you calloused. Oh how he wished that he could stop feeling pain for families and victims. He wished… It wasn't so. The truth was that each case he went through did hell to him. He felt for the victims. And he couldn't stop it. How do you not feel? He was at a loss, but he wished with all his heart he could find an answer. There was no safe place. And there would never be an answer.

He knew this self destruction very well. For all his genius, for all his intellect, he could not fix his own problems. Oh he knew his self destruction very well. It was fear, it was anger and it was pain. He tried to feel and could not, yet he felt when he didn't want to. There was real agony. There was real pain.

It was the cause and solution of all his problems, his savior and his Satan all together. The knife, the blade. The sharp stainless blade covered in his own blood. The scars matched it perfectly. It was the self destruction. Somewhere he knew that this was wrong. He would die tonight. He would let the self destruction blossom at last.

It was no identity that came to his house, but the death. It had let itself in, the whole house permeated with a darkness, as in Satan's evil minions had come to glower at their final triumph. He held the blade and pressed it against his arm. Death, his only savior. The savior of the damned.

Why did no one reach out? The team was there. But they weren't there. They didn't know what he went through. He stopped blaming. He drew a line of blood across his arm. One…

He was always so deadly afraid of everything that was happening to him. Everything that he had been through raining down on him like acid. Burning his heart, destroying him from the inside out. They would know in the morning. They would find him lying cold, alone and dead. Yes he knew his self destruction well.

If only he had the ability to stop feeling, he would have not been here. He would not be a slave to this… self decay. If he had a soul, the demons that tortured him were coming closer. He was about to be swallowed. One more crimson line flowed across milky white flesh. Two…

There were past scars that ran down his arms. The day he commited his mother. the day his father left. This was the final scar to add to the legacy. A final moment to destroy his soul.

Why hadn't they reached out when they had seen the scars? They didn't care. Worthlessness was a deadly emotion. A poison to a dying spirit. A damned soul. For all the dying people he had seen, what had Morgan said at the scars? What! "You shouldn't be doing that kid" Kid! The knife went a little deeper than he intended and had almost cried out in pain.

Sure the team knew that it was hard for there youngest member to find a happy thought in all the blood and gore. He had found apathy and the knife, the cruel metal knife, which was as obsession. Was relief and was forgetfulness. The job merged the lines, blurred morals and corrupted him. That was his self-destruction

It wasn't as if he hadn't tried, tried to get back to normal. He had lost the will to live by then, but it was not a fast progression. Another line. Three… a gradual slope can be hardly noticeable, until it is going so fast that you cannot stop. The end was so close that by the time the youngest had seen the self destruction, he could not stop it. It was a cancer, to eat away at his will power.

They did reach out to him he supposed, they had always been there, but he did not see the eerie face of death until it had swallowed him, he did not see the slope until he could not stop sliding. Tonight was the last night that he would deal with the despair that had riddled his body, the angst that had eaten away his soul. And the savior and Satan that had destroyed his spirits.

He was tired, and the blood made pools and ripples on the tile floor. He drew another line. Four… It was the end and the beginning. If he hadn't taken this job he could have been something. He could have been great. And that was the sadness in his self. He could not stop. And the lines were faster now five… six… A countdown to his wrist and the final cut to end the life he had so utterly destroyed. There was no comeback for this.

He hoped that they didn't find him. He hoped that a neighbor would or something. He didn't want to picture the look on each face as they stood over him, he did not want to see JJ cry into Hotch's shoulder, but those scenes flashed before his eyes unbidden. It was not in his power to stop anymore. Seven…

Of course when he had seen the darkness, the self destruction, he had told them, he had tried to make them comprehend that there was something wrong with him. There was no reply. Never did Satan reply as his hand guided the mortals to make the next line. Eight…

They never got the hint. They never realized that he was dying inside. That he could not go on like that. After all, he was just a kid. Death took another approach down the corridor. Another step in the hallway. Another line. Nine…

He had tried to fix it, but the slippery slope was too steep. The cancer too advanced. And the end came far more quickly than he expected. The death was faster now than ever before. His realize became the death of him as Satan's smile became wider in the dark house.

He had failed, he hadn't kept his promise, but then no one would really miss him. No one would hurt him anymore. The death would be final. He would have something he could hang on too.

There was no help. Only the darkness to lead him on the path of shadows. For once nothing was like it was meant to be. Ten… he was so close now that he was sure that the next line would kill him. He had to pause for the next one.

The knife hovered in the air, the air crackled around him. The devil was jumping for joy now, his smile shone from ear to ear. The knife came down and traced its red stained path. Death was imminent in the room. He felt himself start to become light headed-

Spencer Reid woke up with a start; The clock read 2:00 am. He looked down and traced ten jagged scars on his arm.

"_So tell me what keeps Dr. Spencer Reid up at night?"_

I didn't have the heart to kill him in this story. Anyway… Tell me what you think. Suggestions are very appreciated. Thanks! R&R


End file.
